Night Of The Living Dandelion Part 26

"Your doctor's appointment is today?" Grace asked.

"Yes," I said. Stretching the truth wasn't considered a lie, was it?

"I don't think the doctor will be pleased to see the damage you've inflicted on your ankle," Grace said.

"I'll get you some ice," Lottie said, starting toward the kitchen. "We've still got a few of those old metal ice cube trays filled with water in the freezer, don't we, Gracie?"

"Last time I checked," Grace said. She had a look on her face that made me suspect she was on the verge of lecturing me. She took hold of the edges of her crisp navy blazer, clearing up any doubt as to her intentions.

"I'm reminded of the words of Thomas Fuller, a physician in the early seventeen hundreds, who said, 'Health is not valued till sickness comes.' I believe we can safely say you've proved him correct, can't we? And, of course, we shouldn't forget-"

"Gracie, would you give me a hand?" Lottie called. "The trays are frozen to the freezer."

We shouldn't forget to thank Lottie for her timely interruption.

By the time Marco came to pick me up, the swelling had gone down, my ankle was back in its Ace bandage, and Grace and Lottie had promised not to mention my mishap to anyone.

"Hey, Honeypot," he said, coming into the workroom. "How's it going?" He kissed me on the cheek, then pulled up a stool and sat down at the table with me, watching as I tied a satin bow around a bouquet of callas and roses.

"Good news. We found Jillian, and she's now in a private room at Parkview Hospital being treated for her infection and dehydration."

"Where was she?"

"At Vlad's apartment. She thought since he was a vampire, he would give her refuge."

Marco groaned. "Poor Vlad."

"He didn't seem to mind. Anyway, one of the EMTs who came to pick Jillian up was Kyle, and he gave me something for you. It's in my jacket pocket." I pointed to my jacket hanging on the back of my desk chair.

Marco opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper. On the paper was a four-by-six-inch scanned photo of Lori Willis taken shortly after she'd been brought into the morgue. It showed her lying on her back on a stainless-steel table, dressed in a white blouse and a navy skirt, both badly stained and wrinkled, no doubt from the time spent in the garbage bin. Her shoes were missing. Her blond hair had been pulled away from her face, and her head turned away from the camera so that two pinhole-sized marks were visible on one side of her throat.

"Do you have a magnifying gla.s.s?" Marco asked.

"In the desk drawer."

He got it out and took a closer look. "Whoever drained her blood must have known exactly what to do. There are two puncture marks on her neck but no bloodstains." He moved the magnifier slowly across the image. "I'm not seeing any ligature marks. I would expect to see some kind of restraint, since she was held for several days, but maybe it's the poor quality of this copy. I'll have to have this enlarged and sharpened. There may be other things we're not seeing."

"Or maybe there aren't any ligature marks because Lori was locked in a bas.e.m.e.nt or a storage shed-or even a barn. There are lots of abandoned barns scattered around the county."

"She would have tried to get out and her nails would show it. It doesn't look to me like her nails are broken."

I took the magnifier and held it over the photo. "It looks like they were just manicured."

"Her killer must have used drugs to subdue her. Somehow I've got to get a copy of the tox screen."

I studied the photo again. "In the casino video, Lori was wearing a yellow flower pendant and earrings. Where did they go? Her purse was intact, so is it likely that her killer would steal her jewelry but not her wallet?"

"Could've been taken as a souvenir, although that's more typical of a serial killer, and I don't think that's the case here."

"When I get home, the first thing I take off is my jewelry so that it doesn't snag my clothes. My rings and necklace are also the last things I put on in the morning. So maybe Lori was getting dressed for work Wednesday morning, or had just come home Tuesday night, when she was abducted."

"Good point. We'll have to talk to her neighbors." He glanced at his watch. "We should get going now so you won't be late for your appointment with Holloway. After supper, if everything is quiet at the bar, we'll head over to Willis's neighborhood and see what we can dig up."

We were in for a busy day. But at least we'd be together.

Sebastian Holloway's office was on the second floor of a private medical clinic across the street from County Hospital. In contrast to the old hospital building, the clinic was new and modern, with lots of windows and skylights and comfortable waiting areas. Surprisingly, when we reached Holloway's office, there were no other patients in sight.

"Still feel comfortable meeting Holloway alone?" Marco asked, after I'd signed in at the desk.

"Mais oui."

"Gabriella La Cour?" the nurse called from the doorway.

"That was fast," I said to Marco, as he helped me get balanced on the crutches. "When was the last time you saw a doctor that quickly?"

"Maybe he doesn't have many patients. He did suffer a blow to his reputation. And remember, I'll be right here if you need me."

After having me fill out a consultation form, a nurse took me into Dr. Holloway's office and asked me to sit in one of the chairs facing the doctor's desk. "Doctor will be in as soon as he finishes up with his patient," she promised.

She closed the door and left me alone in the office. I glanced around, noting the expensive oil paintings, the beautiful black cherry furniture, the overstuffed chairs, and built-in cabinets filled with leather-bound books, marble sculptures, and framed photographs.

I could hear a man talking in the next room and a.s.sumed it was Holloway, so I decided to do a little snooping. I hopped to the bookcase by holding onto the backs of furniture, then examined the photos. Some were of Holloway being presented awards. A few had been taken with political figures, the governor and a state senator among them. There was also a photo of a much younger Holloway with an attractive woman and two small children. Next to it was a shot of an older Holloway with two teenaged children, minus the woman.

I was studying the photograph of Holloway with his children when I realized the talking in the next room had stopped. Quickly, I put the frame back on the shelf and turned just as the door opened and Dr. Speedo himself stepped in. He still had the dashing appearance of George Clooney, but with more girth around the middle and the start of a sagging jawline.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," he said with a smile, checking out my sweater and skirt. He finished that off with a l.u.s.tful stare at the cleavage showing where I'd left the top two sweater b.u.t.tons undone. "C'est un plaisir de faire votre connaissance," he said, finding my face at last.

His accent was deplorable, but he got the French right.

Gabriella, ma cherie, if he speaks Francais, you're in trouble. He'll know right away you're a-how you say-fraud? In which case he won't be as pleased to make your acquaintance as he thinks.

Holloway came toward me with his hand outstretched, his white physician's coat flapping open, revealing a white shirt and blue silk tie, with tan pants that matched his ostrichleather shoes. He caught sight of my crutches lying beside the chair and came to a stop. "I didn't realize you were injured. Qu'est-ce que s'est pa.s.se?"

I was going to have to go to Plan B sooner than expected.

I let him help me into my chair, then, as he made his way around the desk, I crossed my legs so that my good foot swung free and my wrapped ankle was hidden. Naturally, the first thing he did when he was seated was stare at my bare knee. I wondered how many swings of my foot it would take before he was hypnotized.

I leaned forward and said with a sheepish smile, "You caught me, Doctor."

With a convincing show of modesty, he said, "Did I now?"

"You knew right away I wasn't French."

He shook his finger at me. "Many have tried to fool me, but few have succeeded."

"You were going to go along with my act because your curiosity got the better of you, didn't it? Shame on you for trying to fool me!"

"Well, it appears that now I've been caught." Holloway put on a good front but was unable to stop a blush of embarra.s.sment from spreading up his neck, not because he believed he'd outsmarted me, but because he knew he hadn't.

We had a laugh; then he sat back and studied me, or rather, my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "So why are you here, Miss La Cour?"

"I'm working on an article ent.i.tled 'Brilliant Surgeons Who Give a d.a.m.n,' for a national magazine. I'm not at liberty to reveal the name of this publication just yet, but you would be exceedingly pleased." Not that any magazine editor would ever see such an article.

Holloway's gaze was focused on my face now. He was not only intrigued but also flattered. "I'm a little puzzled as to why you couldn't have told me this at the outset."

"You weren't supposed to know about the piece until after it was written. That's to ensure that the surgeons I interview don't treat me any differently than a real consult."

"I think my patients would tell you that I treat all of them very well, Miss La Cour."

What patients? "I'm sure they would. Unfortunately, I can't use you now because you know why I'm here."

He tapped his fingers on the desk for a moment, then shrugged and stood up. "Well, I'm sorry it didn't work out."

d.a.m.n. He wasn't falling for it. Think, Abby. Stroke his ego!

I reached for my crutches and got to my feet as he walked toward his door. "Ironic, isn't it?" I said. "The other surgeons will be in the piece because they're not as smart as you."

He stopped, his hand on the doork.n.o.b. Then he turned. "Unless . . ."

I waited.

"I don't believe we've met," he said, coming toward me with his hand outstretched. "I'm Dr. Sebastian Holloway. And you are?"

A genius.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

"So," Holloway said, leaning back in his chair, "how can I help you, Miss-La Cour, was it?"

Unbelievable. Holloway was actually enjoying the charade. It made my work so much easier. Continuing the ruse, I took out my notebook and pen. "As I told your nurse, I'm interviewing doctors for my employer. He's seeking a second opinion from the top cardiac specialists in the world, but he's asked for a dossier on each candidate first."

A dossier. Wow. I'd pulled that right out of the air. Marco was going to be blown away. I only wished he could have been there to watch me work.

Holloway gave me a conspiratorial wink. "I understand. What would your employer like to know?"

"I already have the names of your schools, the hospital where you did your internship, et cetera, so could you tell me of any honors or awards you've received?"

Holloway was in his element now. He laced his fingers behind his head and rattled off the information, while I jotted notes furiously to make it look real.

After ten minutes of writing, I flexed my fingers to get rid of the cramps. "Very impressive, Doctor. Now tell me a little about your personal life. Children, marriages, that sort of thing."

"Okay," Holloway said with a little less enthusiasm. He went straight into a spiel about his kids, noting how they were taking after him by excelling at science and math. He got up to show me the photo of them, remarking how they also took after him in looks, then sat back down, clearly pleased with himself.

"Are you married or divorced?" I asked.

He gave me a distinctly lecherous smile. "Let's just say I'm available."

Like that was any different from when he was married. It was all I could do not to make gagging sounds. "I'm going to have to get a little more personal now, Doctor. I've found that it helps to explore some of the more painful moments in life to expose the human side, something that patients don't often get to see in their physicians."

"Okay," he said warily.

"I came across a reprimand that you received a few years back-"

Holloway smacked the top of his desk with his open hand, making me jump. "That should never have happened!"

He stood up, pushing his chair away from his desk so hard it hit the window behind him. "I was the victim of a vicious, vindictive-" He cut himself off and shook his head, as though he were about to say something revealing. "A vindictive act."

Had he stopped himself from naming Lori Willis?

"Would you clarify that for me?" I asked.

He chose his words carefully, pacing with his head down and his hands clasped behind his back. "I suppose you could call it retaliation by a person who wanted to discredit me."

"Was this person a patient?"

"It's really not pertinent, Miss La Cour."

"What was the reprimand for?"

Holloway shrugged, as if it was no big deal. "An infraction of hospital policy. Nothing that would warrant what happened."

"Which was what?"

"To start with, my reputation was tarnished and I nearly lost my hospital privileges. It also caused my marriage to fall apart and almost ruined me financially."

"That must have been quite an ordeal."

"It was a living h.e.l.l, Miss La Cour. A. Living. h.e.l.l."

I could see that he was enjoying the role of martyr, so I played up to it. "What would cause someone to seek retaliation against such an esteemed surgeon as yourself?"

"Jealousy," he said, as though it should be obvious.

"Over your success?"

"Of course. Among other things."

"Such as?"

"Let's just say everything that comes with success."